


the tail is looking out for better weather

by noahfronsenburg



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Bad Puns, Begging, Biting, Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Face-Fucking, Hair-pulling, M/M, Power Dynamics, Rimming, Semi-Public Sex, Strap-Ons, Trans Male Character, haytham "stupid gay" kenway strikes again, no betas we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-06-30 16:20:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15755373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noahfronsenburg/pseuds/noahfronsenburg
Summary: “Hmm,” Haytham said.Shay shut his eyes. “Please. Tell me you’ve encountered a vagina before.”“Well,” Haytham said, “Ah, not as such, no."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 9:41 PM] vorpalplatypus: when you write this i hope you include haytham having no idea where the clitoris is  
> [9:41 PM] vorpalplatypus: "is it in the ass"  
> 9:44 PM] alexei: shay cormac is forced to explain to his boss what a clitoris is and where one finds it  
> [9:45 PM] vorpalplatypus: IT'S NOT EVEN HARD  
> [9:45 PM] vorpalplatypus: IT'S LIKE RIGHT THERE  
> [9:45 PM] vorpalplatypus: cis men are fucking stupid
> 
> title is from the traditional shanty "all for me grog"

When Shay had found himself flirting with his boss, he’d thought the biggest issue he’d have to deal with was going to be having plausible deniability about the Abstergo office subordinate-supervisor relations policy because he’d never actually read the manual, George had just kind of...hired him. So he’d never filled out any onboarding paperwork.

No: that was not the biggest issue.

The biggest issue was:

Being shut in a stifling coat closet while, outside the door, Haytham’s office was being vacuumed by the janitorial staff after-hours, and, in the pitch dark, where fumbling necking had turned to grinding had turned to Haytham squeezing between his legs and making this hot hopeful little noise and kneeling between them, and he’d unzipped the fly of Shay’s jeans and pulled them down to his thighs and just.

Paused.

“Hmm,” Haytham said.

Shay shut his eyes.

“Hmm.” Haytham said again, more emphatic this time. Almost as if he was trying to confirm what it was that was missing, he lifted his hand from Shay’s thigh and pressed it over his mons, long, hot fingers flattening his pubes and up to the bottom of his stomach. Neither one of them moved. “Hmm,” Haytham added, almost as an afterthought. “Well,” he said, his voice pitched soft and low so that it wouldn’t carry (as if that was a problem, what with the _fucking vacuum_ outside the door), “I may. Well.

“Hmm.”

Shay lifted his head away from the wall of Haytham’s coat closet just far enough that he could bang it backwards. He did it once, and then because that did not successfully really hit home for the catharsis he needed, did it twice more. “Haytham,” Shay began, his eyes still shut even as he raised his beseeching face towards the heavens and prayed fervently for either Jesus himself to smite him off of the face of the fucking planet or for the vacuuming to stop so he could not do this in a coat closet that was _not_ meant to house two full grown men and also their fucking winter coats while doing distinctly inappropriate things to be doing in your boss’ office coat closet, “Please. Tell me you’ve encountered a vagina before.”

“Well,” Haytham said again, his breath hot on the insides of Shay’s thighs as he shifted where he was kneeing on the floor, “Ah, not as such, no. Not in practice. In theory, yes. I did take several health classes in school.”

Shay pinched the bridge of his nose. “You have a son,” he said. “I have _met_ him. He has your nose; you can’t tell me he’s not biological.”

“Honestly, Shay,” Haytham was sort of...pawing through Shay’s pubes now, clearly trying, and failing, to figure out where anything was beneath them. Shay’s breath hitched as Haytham’s fingers glanced off his clit, but he kept looking too high. Shay took pity on him; grabbed his trousers and boxers and shoved them further down toward his ankles, shaking his legs further apart, and pressed Haytham’s hand lower towards the junction of his thighs. “It’s not the eighteenth century; I didn’t lie back and think of England. Besides which, I think Ziio would rather punch my lights out than go anywhere near my dick; we went to a clinic and I jacked it into a cup and then she—“

“I get it,” Shay choked out, before he could get any more out of _that_ visual. No, thanks. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing down there?”

“Uh,” Haytham said. Very eloquently. Shay was starting to wonder if Eton and Oxford had done anything for him, actually. How many languages did he speak? Five? Six? Did Latin count? “Pray forgive my presumption, Shay,” Oh no, “But I very much felt, uh. You know. Packing heat, as they say.”

“It’s in my boxers,” Shay could feel his entire life flashing before his eyes. From the moment he’d met Haytham Kenway, all gorgeous and still a little pale from the car accident, and thought _oh I can’t not fuck him_ until here, he was regretting every poor and horny decision he had made. As Liam would say, thinking with your dick got you nowhere good, ever.

Haytham, apparently curious, started groping around between Shay’s ankles and fumbled in his boxers until he pulled out the packer. “Oh, well I’ll be damned.” Shay started praying to every Saint he could remember from his childhood days as an altar boy, in alphabetical order, for patience. “That’s remarkably lifelike.”

“That’s the _point_.” Shay had brought the chubbier packer today in his bag and swapped them out after hours when it became clear that he was not, in fact, staying late to help Haytham understand the shipping expenditures (Haytham was better than he was at maths, anyway) but was, in fact, staying late to fuck his boss. Made sense to at least have a semi, right?

And then all his plans had gone out the window when Haytham had, actually, wanted a shipping rundown, and Shay had belatedly realized that _no, he was actually staying late at work to help his boss with work and not to fuck_ , until the janitorial staff had shown up and Haytham had wanted to avoid any untoward questions and bundled them into the coat closet.

 _Like that wasn’t more questions_.

Haytham was literally the CEO of the entire North American branch and senior member to the Board of Trustees. He could stay late. Did he just have a public sex kink? It seemed like the sort of thing he’d be into.

“Do you...” Shay began, hoping he’d gotten enough Saints-given patience, “Need an explanation of what to do.”

“It can’t be _that_ difficult,” Haytham replied, his accent so archly reproving that it could have sliced open envelope paper. Shay resisted the urge to cross himself and/or burst the door open and run as fast as he could with his slacks tangling his ankles. “I speak six languages—“ so Latin did count, then, “I believe I count as something of a cunning linguist.”

Shay pursed his lips and pulled his foot far enough back that he could kick Haytham in the knee; got a pained grunt for his effort and Haytham muttering under his breath, “I suppose I deserved that,” before Shay overrode him by replying, “You have to actually _eat pussy_ before you can make that joke.”

Haytham made a sound that got eaten up by the vacuum but Shay was _pretty_ sure was him choking on his own spit. “Shay,” his voice cracked ragged on Shay’s name. “Your _mouth_.”

“One of us has to get our mouth dirty, if you’re not going to put yours to use.” Shay distantly was self-aware enough to know that he should _probably_ not be smack-talking his boss, but he was turned on, his dick hard and throbbing, and Haytham _was not getting down to business_. Tentatively, unsure as to how Haytham would take to it (Haytham _had_ gotten down on his knees without being asked, so Shay felt like he wasn’t totally off the mark by assuming that the other man was totally into Shay using him however he wanted) Shay grabbed the back of his head, slid his fingers into the top of Haytham’s ponytail, and pulled, dragging his face forward.

The noise Haytham made was like he’d been shot. His hands, pressed to Shay’s thighs, tensed, his blunt nails dug into his skin. Shay felt his breath hitch, and he half-smiled, and pulled again. “Yes,” Haytham hissed, the whisper almost lost as Shay pressed Haytham’s face into the juncture of his thighs. “God, yes.”

Shay could deal with this.

“Please tell me you know where my clit is,” Shay whispered, as Haytham’s hands slid up the insides of his thighs, knocked his legs as far apart as they could get while he still had his trousers round his ankles, and Haytham brushed his pubic hair out of the way, pulled him open, breathed hot over the folds at the heart of him. “Or what it is.”

“I’m _gay_ , Shay, not an _idiot_. Next thing I know you'll be asking me if I think it's in your arse. Have some faith in me, Mr. Cormac.”

“You say this, but you sure aren’t doing your reputation for being a fool any favors.”

Haytham bit the sensitive skin on the inside of Shay’s thigh for that—not hard enough to mark, but hard enough to make Shay whine at the potential for Haytham doing that again, and harder. “I’ll admit,” the other man muttered, as his fingers slid between Shay’s lips, brushed down to his entrance to get wet, swiped back forward like he was trying to sort of learn where everything was and how it worked, tender without being too-light, “I think had you not been on testosterone for years, I’d likely not be able to find it without a map and a good pen-light, but fortunately we shan’t have to endure _that_ embarrassing deconstruction of the lapses in my sexual education fostered by being a gay slut at a boy’s college.”

Shay shut _that_ image away to unpack, in explicit and full detail, later, in the privacy of his bedroom, with his magic wand.

“You’re going to kill me,” Shay said instead, at the first tentative brush of Haytham’s fingers up over his clit again, trying to size it up, figure out how big it was, how it worked. “I’m going to die.”

“What, am I that off-base?” Haytham was still confusedly dragging his thumbs around Shay’s cunt, but at least he was focused on his clit now, albeit too high.

“No,” Shay shut his eyes again, “Thinking about you getting into a dorm-room orgy.”

“You don’t have to think it,” Haytham said, his voice low and dark and _hoarse_ as he spread Shay wider and licked a tentative stripe up his cunt to his clit, “I can tell you, in full detail. I think I might even have some polaroids.”

If Shay had been close enough, that thought and its accompanying mental image alone probably could have made him come. Instead, all it did was make his dick _throb_ , and his voice broke on a whine as he dragged Haytham closer by his hair again, hitching his thighs wider, and pressed himself hard into the other man’s open mouth. Haytham’s teeth caught on the hood of his clit, but true to his word, he took to it fast—albeit with a learning curve. Shay had to drag Haytham away from his entrance probably three times before he got to leave it alone, and had to nudge his hands back from his ass an equal number of times, but soon enough Haytham turned to concentrating entirely on his dick, and, yeah, boy’s dorms had apparently taught him something, because he sucked dick like he was trying to win a fucking medal at it.

Maybe a little bit too much sucking and not enough licking, but Shay encouraged Haytham to use his tongue more, and Haytham quickly figured it out. Shay wasn’t going to say it aloud, but maybe he did have a bit of a silver tongue, if the way that he licked circles around Shay’s dick was any indication.

The physics were essentially the same. Shay’d done his share of both, and his clit was large enough after fifteen years on T that it was effectively a one-to-one ratio map.

Haytham got into it almost as hard as Shay did, moaning against his pubic mound, sucking hard and then harder, lapping his slick out of him and then using it to lube his tongue, licking under the hood of Shay’s clit and then scraping his teeth just-the-right-amount over the hood after, tantalizing hints of biting without actually doing it, even if Shay would have gotten off on it.

And, God bless Haytham’s soul, every time he pulled back to breathe it was to whisper absolute fucking _filth_ into Shay’s skin, all of it made all the dirtier by his posh fucking RP; like someone had stepped right out of a period film or something and decided to use their voice to read the dirtiest porno titles they’d found anywhere on the internet. What particular combination of hellish wordsmithery that got Shay to come was when Haytham stopped using Shay’s clit for practice in tying cherry stems together and pulled back far enough to whisper, his deep voice totally fucking shot and absolutely breathless, “If I could get you to piss down my throat, I’d thank you,” and Shay came hard enough that the angle his toes curled at made the muscle in the bottom of his right foot tense so hard he almost cried out, and he cursed into his groan and mashed Haytham’s face into his dick hard enough to ride out the heat of the flat of his tongue that Shay felt the other man’s front teeth bang uncomfortably against his pubic bone.

Shaking, his heart hammering in his throat and his adrenaline pumping in his ears, Shay sat there, gasping for wet breath in the humid, sex-drenched air of the coat closet until he realized the vacuuming had stopped, just about the same time Haytham managed to get the door open.

In the limited light of the screen saver from his desktop and the other tech-lights of the office, Shay could see the flush that had turned Haytham’s entire face a blotchy red, see his shirt unbuttoned, the fact that he was soaked from nose to the underside of his chin from where Shay had been riding his face as Haytham ate him out. His hair was a complete rat’s nest, black strands everywhere from where Shay had ripped them out of the elastic, sticking to his chin and his cheeks. He was panting for breath nearly as hard as Shay was, and Shay only paused to fumble long enough to get his trousers all the way off, kicking them over his shoes rather than figure out how to get them back up, before he dragged Haytham to his feet by the half-undone knot of his tie.

Haytham grabbed him by either side of his face, and they kissed like they were both trying to black out from lack of air, stumbled the ten steps between the coat closet door and the side of Haytham’s desk.

They crashed into it with enough force that the computer monitor and the pens in Haytham’s pen cup both rattled. Shay chased the taste of his own slick on Haytham’s mouth and tongue, pulled his hair tie the rest of the way out, and ground his damp mound against Haytham’s erection, which was straining painfully against his still-closed fly until Haytham was practically moaning into his mouth.

“If you ever,” Shay said, breathless, as he dropped to his knees and almost tore Haytham’s belt out of the loops in his haste to get the other man’s fly open, “Make that cunnilingus joke again, I’ll kill you.”

“Certainly; I can’t say I blame you” is what Haytham probably tried to say. What came out of his mouth was “Certainly; I can’t say th _shit, Shay, your bloody fucking, God_ , _mouth,_ ” as Shay got his fly open, jerked the waistband of his boxers down and snapped it back behind his balls, flattened his palm over the base of Haytham’s stomach, wrapped the fingers of his other hand around the base of his dick just enough to guide it, and went straight to the base in one quick breath.

Haytham’s hands buried into his hair, ripped out the elastic for his ponytail _immediately_ (fucker) and dragged him closer to get the head of his cock to sheathe in the tightness at the back of Shay’s throat. “God, yes,” Haytham moaned, one foot hitched up against the side of his desk for leverage, his knee nudging into Shay’s shoulder. “Shay, you’re going to kill me, who taught you to do this so I can thank him and kill him,” Shay hummed, slid off and then back down, scraped his teeth over the top of Haytham’s dick to get him to keen high enough his voice cracked again. He already sounded like he’d practically blacked out from choking after doing a pretty solid run at eating Shay out, but now he sounded like he was about to start crying, gasping for ragged, ugly inhales of breath. “Shay, please,” and he grabbed the back of Shay’s neck, dragged him closer almost apologetically.

Shay pulled back off, sucked on Haytham’s tip, nudged his foreskin all the way back with his teeth and got Haytham’s hips jerking off of the side of the desk like Shay had tied a string to his dick and pulled. “If it’s what you want, boss,” Shay said, getting as much air as he could before he continued, “you can fuck my face.”

Shay didn’t need to speak a word of Spanish or French to know that Haytham was swearing at him as he dragged him back down to the base of his dick, Shay squeezing his balls and pulling him forward in return, and the other man was close enough that Shay only had to deal with getting facefucked like Haytham had a personal vendetta against his tonsils for about a minute before Haytham came down the back of his throat, wheezing for breath, a broken litany of “Yes, God, Shay, yes,” all he seemed capable of as he twitched in the afterglow.

Shay pulled away, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, and settled down onto his heels as Haytham leaned backwards on his elbows, his head thrown back and the smooth, arched line of his throat bared as he gasped for breath, his dick growing soft between his thighs even as the slick and spit on Shay’s own thighs started to get uncomfortable and cold.

“Am I supposed to fuck you next time?” Haytham asked, when he’d gotten his breath back, and Shay grinned at the fact that he sounded _awful_. The fine arcs of his consonants were rough and worn round the edges, and when Haytham looked down at him his eyes were dark and his high cheekbones still ugly-flushed.

“That’s not happening, unless you’re thinking intercrural. Never been into it.” Shay raised both his eyebrows and waggled them as suggestively as he could, which was pretty, given he was currently naked from the waist down and his mouth was a red and swollen wreck. “I’d rather fuck you, if it’s all the same, sir.”

Haytham laughed, threw his head back again, and breathed, “Oh, thank god. I knew someone had to be sensible in the wider universe. God answered my prayers; you’ve a dick that backs up how big your fucking mouth is.”

“Dick _s_ ,” Shay corrected him. “Plural. In size and shape to your liking.”

Haytham’s following gulp was.

Audible.

If anything, Shay’s grin got even wider.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To call their second “date” dinner, drinks, and some fun after would have been implying it very skewed towards the former two of those three options, not to mention overselling the concept of what they had done was dinner and drinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this isnt proofread because i dont care! sorry. thats just how it is on this bitch of an earth. i know you're here for porn and you know youre here for porn so if i made any weird typo adhd word swaps, well, ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

To call their second “date” _dinner, drinks, and some fun after_ would have been implying it _very_ skewed towards the former two of those three options, not to mention overselling the concept of what they had done was dinner and drinks.

In point of fact, they had several deadlines to hit and Shay would be leaving the following morning with the _Morrigan_ for a four-legged flight that was going to dump him out at Italian HQ for probably a month at least, so it was less dinner and drinks and more sitting in a board room cleared out of everyone but them, their laptops, stacks of paper, and takeout and frantically trying to hit deadlines. Which was the opposite of sexy but hey, adulthood!

It was at least _expensive_ takeout. Haytham had shelled out for the good stuff; it wasn’t Christopher’s endless supply of delivery pizza usually paired with whatever beer was cheapest and closest, nor was it George’s preference for whatever Chinese food came in the largest quantity and whiskey, neat. Haytham had ordered from some Indian place, eaten with his left hand as he wrote and typed with his right, and Shay had delivered the drinks as per request, so he’d been able to bring his own preferences. A nice, sweet honey mead, not too alcoholic, just the right amount of buzz.

Being drunk did not really succeed in encouraging good work ethic. Also, as much as Haytham hated admitting it, he was a lightweight. Again: adulthood!

So there was, in fact, both dinner and alcohol in tandem. But it was not really a date. It was just work.

However, afterward, heading down to leave the building, Shay did cock his head and say, “Want to come back to my place?” and Haytham had given him this searching look, his grey eyes reflecting the light back off of the snow, and then he’d smiled back at Shay. Clearly, they both remembered...last time.

“I’d love to. Shall I drive?”

Shay breathed a sigh of relief for Haytham so effectively curtailing him having to come up with some excuse or explanation for why he needed Haytham to drive because they both knew he rode his bike to work. That was easy enough to solve—it fit into the trunk of Haytham’s expensive dark blue car, which was posh as hell—and during the semi-quiet distinctly horny atmosphere of the drive back, Shay took the opportunity to sober up, the cold January air outside the car helping with that, since he did not want to be in a car but he also wanted to be close to sober.

Or, at least, not in the car and separated by the stick shift.

So: dinner and drinks was really _extra work but your boss slash potential fuckbuddy feeds you_. Followed by _some fun after_ being delayed by Shay never having parked a car in his neighborhood so twenty minutes of flushed, awkward, (horny) confused learning where the permit parking was or was not ending in Haytham paying for two hours of parking and muttering something under his breath like, “I’m not running back out here arse naked,” before they went to Shay’s building.

They had enough self control to not neck on the street, in the courtyard, in the hallway, on the stairs, or in the landing. Even if Haytham’s hands did migrate downwards with each stop, until Shay was unlocking his door with shaking hands while Haytham slid his broad palms over the front of his slacks, fingers brushing along the insides of his thighs. The moment Shay got the door open—finally—they made it as far inside as Shay kicking it shut before whatever remaining propriety they had scraped together was promptly forgotten.

They made out against the closed front door, lost their shoes somewhere, then Shay trapped Haytham against the back of his couch and took the opportunity of Haytham trapping his arms in his coat as he struggled out of it to suck a hickey onto the column of his throat in a position where it was just-enough-not-under-his-collar that it would stand out extra, and Haytham did nothing at all to stop him, hissing in pleasure between his teeth the whole while. It was onto the couch their outer layers ended up before they fumbled down the hallway, Shay leading and almost tripping on Haytham’s knees twice, before they got to his bedroom.

Somewhere in there, Haytham stripped him out of his shirt and undershirt without snapping his neck, so when Shay got the bedroom light on, Haytham just stared hungrily at him. Shay cocked his head, patient, as Haytham stroked a hand down his chest, starting at his shoulder, thumbs finding the arcing scars along the underside of Shay’s pectorals, fingertips brushing through his chest hair. “God,” he said, hoarse, “You’re magnificent.”

“You’re not so terrible yourself, for an old man.” Haytham half-bared his teeth in a grimace to rebuke him, but Shay ignored it—again, he probably shouldn’t smack-talk his boss, but Haytham deserved it, in all honesty—and instead grabbed the other man by the front of his still-buttoned shirt and shoved him so the backs of his knees hit Shay’s bed.

He sat down promptly, and Shay’s mouth went dry as soon as Haytham started unbuttoning his shirt by feel alone, not looking away from Shay as he went to fumble at his dresser.

“How serious was that crack you made last week,” Haytham asked. Shay could feel the other man staring at his back, broad and lean, and he shifted more as he searched through drawers. “Plural.”

Shay responded by taking out the first dildo that came to hand and tossed it without looking onto the bed. He did that with the next one, and the next one too, and snickered under his breath as the sounds of Haytham disrobing went quiet. He ended up throwing all six of his dildos onto the bed, and pulled out his harness just in case, before he turned to look back at Haytham.

Haytham was holding up Shay’s one significant splurge—custom-made dragon dildos did not come cheap, especially large and marbled red ones—with a look that was hard to define but, if Shay had been pushed, he would have put down as _horny, but confused and kind of upset about it_. “Goodness,” Haytham whispered, setting that one aside a moment later. “Maybe next time,” he added, even softer under his breath, as he sorted through the rest. “Did you have...one in mind?”  
  
“The blue one; it’s strapless.” Haytham held up the one in particular Shay meant, turning it back and forth as he tried to figure out the mechanics of it. He opened his mouth, and Shay preempted him. “It’s insertable. There’s more sensation.”

“You said you were uninterested in penetration.”

“It doesn’t really do much for me, but this gets more pressure on my dick.” Haytham nodded slowly, like Shay was talking to him in a _seventh_ language, one he didn’t speak.

“I see,” he said, in the way you say _I see_ when you don’t actually see at all but you want to seem like you get it. “If that’s what you’d prefer, then certainly.” He looked back up at Shay, and his usually guarded expression was open; hopeful. He seemed about to ask, so Shay nodded at the bedside table.

“Lube’s in the drawer.”

“Oh.”

That sorted, Shay dropped the harness back into the drawer and crossed over to where Haytham had finished unbuttoning his shirt, getting there just in time to slide his hands up under the other man’s as he pulled his own undershirt off. “God, how are you so fucking fit,” Shay whispered, furious at Haytham’s grin goading him on. He really was; the kind of absurd gym-membership personal-trainer specified-diet fit that came along with chiseled, defined musculature prioritized over actual muscle. That said, though, he looked so fucking good, what the hell. Shay wanted to lick him.

Since he could, Shay shoved Haytham the rest of the way onto the bed, fingertips curled under his belt, and he crouched over the other man, bracketing his thighs, and did it. Just licked a long stripe from below his navel to the hollow of his throat; got the taste of Haytham’s sweat and chesthair for his pains. Haytham made a hot, ugly noiset, leaning up partway onto his elbows, trying to see before Shay shoved him flat again and left another mark; this time, just below his collarbone, and got a groan for his efforts.

“Trousers,” Haytham managed, at about the point Shay had gotten to his side, next to the scar from where he’d been impaled in the car accident a few years before, a line of red hickeys running down his chest toward his waistband. He sounded ragged, his voice deep and raw with arousal.

“Don’t rush me,” Shay muttered into his skin, undoing Haytham’s belt and pulling his slacks down, shoving them over the side of the bed and nudging the rest of his dildo collection to lay with them, and whipped his boxers off.

In the actual light of his bedroom, Haytham’s dick was even better than it had looked in the screensaver light of Haytham’s dark office. He was uncut, curved and long, and Shay hummed to himself as he took it in hand, squeezed to watch what Haytham would do. His eyes fluttered shut as Shay jacked him lazily, and he took a quick, deep breath, his upper lip curling as he whined. His foreskin peeling back from the glistening head of his cock made Shay’s mouth water again, and he resisted the urge to lick the tip, turning instead to bite another hickey into the muscle at the v of Haytham’s abdomen, just above where his pubic hair got thick, felt his erection jump with it, and moved further down, fumbling one-handed with the fly of his slacks, unbuckling his belt along with the zipper. It wasn’t very coordinated, but Shay managed to strip the rest of the way somehow and also get Haytham’s hips up off of the bed in one hand, kiss the inside of his thigh.

“Hand me the lube?” Shay held out his hand until Haytham passed it down.

“Forgive me for asking,” Haytham sat up above him as Shay popped the cap one-handed, buried his face into the crack of his ass, and spat on his entrance. “Fucking hell,” Haytham choked, in the middle of whatever he’d been saying, as Shay licked a hot stripe from just below his balls to his ass, and stuck his tongue inside him. “Shay, I was _talking_.”

Shay continued to tongue-fuck him rather than responding. Haytham made a noise that landed somewhere on the verge between _frustrated_ and _pleased_ , and got Haytham’s hand in his hair for his pains. “If you don’t like getting fucked,” Shay found Haytham’s impeccable verbiage breaking down almost as good as the wounded sounds he made every time Shay’s teeth scraped his rim, so he didn’t let up. If anything, he started rimming Haytham harder, licking into him and humming low in his throat, sucking his rim until Haytham yelped. “You _are_ familiar with the—finer. Delicacies of the—fuck, act.” His voice broke, twice, when Shay pulled back enough to lick a stripe over his pucker, and it took him twice as long to get that one sentence out as it normally should have.

By the end, he was panting, and he’d dropped his head back on his shoulders, his mouth open as he gasped. Shay finally pulled back and lubed two fingers, making the best of Haytham already being wet and relaxed from his tongue to slid them into him at once, curl them gently and pull out on his rim. Shay grinned when Haytham looked at him. “Trust me,” he told Haytham, thrusting both fingers in up to the knuckle and getting a raw whine for his impatience, “I’m pretty handy.”

“That’s awful,” Haytham tried to sound offended, but it came out pitiful. “You harped on me for the cunning linguist and do this.” Shay spread his fingers and pulled out on Haytham’s rim. Haytham whined again, rocking helplessly off of the sheets. Shay dug his thumb into the outside of his rim to get more pressure onto the sensitive nerves, pinched the skin, and beneath him Haytham wheezed piteously, clenching tight around his fingers, making the back of Shay’s mouth go dry.

If it was possible to really rush proper prep, Shay rushed this. He’d barely gotten three fingers into Haytham before he was asking for more, and Shay pulled back, his hands shaking. Haytham had pulled a condom out of the nightstand, too, and he tossed it so that Shay caught it, tore it open with his teeth.

Using his clean hand, he took some more lube and slicked his end, hissed between his teeth as he slid it in, biting his lower lip at the pressure as the outside folded back up over his dick. Haytham was looking at it with an expression midway between curiosity and expectancy as Shay shifted, settling, and he rolled the condom down over the shaft, slicked it twice with lube.

“I,” Haytham said, voice low, “See the appeal now.” Shay grinned back at him—the way the strapless settled on him it really did look like it was his own cock. Albeit a blue one.

“Just wait,” Shay told him. “Roll over.” Haytham swallowed, his throat bobbing, and there was something positively indecent about him rolling onto his chest, hitching up on his knees and lifting his ass into the air while still wearing his socks, rolled up his calves. Shay leaned over him, kissed the top of his back, got a hand on the base of his cock and pulled his entrance wide.

It was an easy slide home; Haytham’s ass took cock like it was made for it.

Shay pressed his forehead to the dip of the other man’s back and let out a low noise as he bottomed out, the pressure of Haytham rocking back against him feeding back into him via the saddle, and he fumbled between his thighs to push the button to turn on the bullet vibe inside him, and as soon as it rumbled to life Haytham audibly choked, gasping. “Fuck,” he said, breathy and reeling. “They always do that?”

“Makes them better,” Shay settled further forward, let his weight push him the rest of the way until he bottomed out inside Haytham, rocking as he adjusted, enjoying the roll of the weight of the dildo against his dick.

“Christ, fuck me.” Haytham didn’t have to ask twice: Shay grabbed his hips and pulled out, leaning more of his weight into Haytham to drive his thrusts. It was rough and fast and _great_ , and Haytham responded better than pretty much anybody else Shay had ever fucked. Certainly better than Gist, who lay there and took it and then complained if it wasn’t hard enough—just like when he’d been sucking Shay’s dick, Haytham spat pure filth into the pillow with every thrust, and seemed to have absolutely no shame about it. When Shay grabbed for his cock, Haytham batted his hand away and instead hissed, “My hair, Shay.”

“Fucking hell,” Shay gulped, reached for Haytham’s frazzled, half-out ponytail instead, and grabbed at the base of his skull, wrapping the tail of his hair around his hand. A quick jerk made Haytham whine, and when Shay pulled harder, made Haytham’s entire head tilt backwards and his neck strain, he made a sound like he’d just been punched in the chest, moaning and clenching down _hard_ against where Shay was fucking him.

“You like that?” Shay gasped, shifting the angle of his thrusts to aim more toward Haytham’s prostate. “You keep it long just ‘cause you get off on having it pulled?”

“Yes,” Haytham admitted, his voice cracking down the middle on the word. “Love being used.” Shay’s whole body tensed just hearing him say that, and he had to bite down on his tongue _hard_ to keep from whining, pulled on Haytham’s hair harder just to hear him cry out, because every time he did Shay’s clit throbbed, and he ground harder into Haytham to chase that sensation. “Shay,” he didn’t have to say _please_ for Shay to be able to hear the pleading in his voice, so Shay pulled harder on his hair, drove into him twice as fast. “Shay,” Haytham whimpered again, his voice cracking and shattering, and Shay leaned as far over him as he could.

“Want me to come in you?” He bit out, sinking his teeth into Haytham’s shoulderblade and getting another moan for it.

“God, yes, please,” Haytham shook against him, and Shay bit him again, hard enough to draw blood. “Shay, I’m going to—“

“Come just on my cock, Hayth?” Shay whispered, his stomach clenching and his thighs tensing with muscle fatigue from exhaustion and how close he was, riding the edge. The strapless always did it for him, something about the feeling of actually being inside someone else, the fact that between the plastic inside him and the weight and tightness of Haytham on the other side his clit was getting crushed. “Without a hand on your dick?”

And then Haytham Kenway did the last thing Shay expected. He rolled back on his heels, driving himself _hard_ onto Shay’s cock, and, voice cracking, said: “Please, can I come?”

Shay came so hard his vision blacked out, his throat choked shut, the show of submission totally burning out his synapses, his entire body overloading as he clenched up, _hard_ , hilted deep as he could be in Haytham’s tight body. “Hayth,” he whimpered between his teeth as he jerked his hips in quick little jerks, grinding himself against the dildo, his throat burning with how hard he was gasping. “Yes,” he sobbed at last, and Haytham shuddered against him, bucking back onto his cock, crying out as he tensed and came, shooting his mess onto Shay’s sheets, and he couldn’t even fucking care at that precise moment, not when Haytham was moaning and riding his cock and Shay could practically taste his orgasm in the back of his throat.

When he pulled out, Shay fell back hard onto his ass, and Haytham collapsed facefirst into the pillows. It took Shay twice as long as it should have to get the strapless out, partly because his muscles were still shaking with aftershocks, but he eventually managed to crawl over to sprawl next to Haytham, who had rolled over out of the wet spot and thrown his arm out for Shay to collapse onto.

He didn’t need to be asked twice, and just fell into the embrace, the both of them panting. “You always a sub?” Shay asked, breathless, and Haytham laughed.

“Never. Just know it gets tops off.” Shay barked an embarrassed laugh and pressed his cleaner hand to his face, covered his eyes. Haytham made this deep, rolling affectionate noise in the bottom of his chest and pulled Shay’s hand from his eyes, kissed the hollow of his wrist of his pulse point, his lips soft and his breath warm. “Nothing to be embarrassed about.” Shay elbowed him, but gently, and they lay there, regaining their breath, cooling off.

Eventually, Haytham kissed the hollow of his shoulder. “Do you have a shirt I can borrow?” Shay cracked an eye as Haytham stood up, pulling his ponytail out and stretching the kinks out of his back, feeling at the bite mark that Shay had left bleeding on his shoulder. He made a wincing noise, and then went off to the bathroom, peeling down his socks as he went.

Haytham walked like he fucking owned the place, and Shay appreciated his ass for every step he took.

“Thought you didn’t want to deal with the car?”

“Oh, I can run out briefly and refresh it. I rarely sleep longer than two hours at a stretch anyway.” Haytham leaned on the doorframe and looked back at Shay, and he looked so vulnerable with his hair down, stuck to his sweaty red face, Shay wanted to kiss him. He needed to brush his teeth first. “Unless you don’t want me to stay?”

Shay didn’t even have to consider it. He just got up, and went to find a t-shirt Haytham could borrow.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr/twitter @jonphaedrus


End file.
